Completely trundled

Aye. Knackered. But the step up in both mileage and difficulty is a good hurdle to get over. A few weeks and it'll be fine. Sure it will. I'll keep telling myself that. And in spite of the mild protests from my legs I decided that cycling home would be a good idea. I'm regretting that. It was the headwind although I sensibly confined myself to a modest average of 12mph.

Slumped on the sofa now with a wee Pinot Noir. A couple of days rest before the foolish cycle back from St Andrews.

*****

A funny thing happened on the way to meet TFP for the run into Edinburgh.

"Wher's yer kneepads?" he says.

I must confess he got me with that one. I was dumbstruck for a second and even looked down just check where my kneepads had gone. Damn. Left them on the table. No, wait, looks again, I'm not 10 and this isn't a BMX or a skateboard. No, I was still nearly 50 and riding a bicycle. I said "kneepads?" with all the incredulity I could muster but it was clear that I was talking to an idiot and that this was a tactic.

In truth it wasn't that bad. He'd passed me too close at, I don't know, 35-40mph and that being nothing new, if he hadn't pulled in at the little shop I wouldn't have bothered but he was stopping so I just stopped to let him know that it was too close.

It was polite enough.

"Excuse me. You just passed me."
"Aye"
"Well it was too close"
"You should be at the side of the road."

I'm not going to debate this point.

"I was at the side of the road."
"Wher's yer helmet? Wher's yer helmet and yer kneepads? If you're not going to dress..."
"Kneepads?"

I give up.

The helmet and kneepads is a flustered and desperate tactic to displace the discussion. Anything to make it about me, my road position, my clothes, rather than about him, his driving, his poor eyesight, his concentration on what he's got to do when he gets to his supervisory desk in a Harts Builders Portakabin.